


What We Have in the Light

by HelloTroggy



Series: Within Time and Space [4]
Category: Pedro Pascal - Fandom, Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fingering, If the Crest is Rocking, No use of y/n, One Shot, One Shot Episode, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Pre-Season 1, Pussy Play, Reader Insert, Sex in the Captain's Chair, Smut, The Bucket is On
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:48:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28605480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelloTroggy/pseuds/HelloTroggy
Summary: Where did all this begin?
Relationships: Mando/reader, Mando/you, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, The Mandalorian/Reader
Series: Within Time and Space [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2079729
Comments: 4
Kudos: 64





	What We Have in the Light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Much_Ado_Abt_Novels](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Much_Ado_Abt_Novels/gifts).



“So you’re telling me it’s gonna cost how much?” you’re staring down the protocol unit representing the chop shop you’d had to take your baby into. “Apologies ma’am” the copper and rust colored droid responded, its feminine voice a bit tinny. “It will be 800 New Republic Credits, and 4 hours until our crew will be able complete the necessary repairs.” You make an unhappy sound and ask the unit for a moment. There’s a convenient alcove near the exit, and it’s there that you’re able to fuss and fret, semi-privately.

Alright. Sure, you have the 800, but they weren’t supposed to be for replacing a kriffing lateral engine! Not that you _necessarily_ had any other plans for those credits, you didn’t appreciate a big expense all of a sudden. “Dank Farrik!” you swear bitterly. “What’s the matter?” asks the modulated baritone of the Mandolorian as he disembarks the Albatross, approaching you where you’re having your internal struggle. You try to wave him away, “The joys of living in the galaxy, gotta pay bills in order to pay other bills.” He isn’t deterred, “The pirates?”, you sigh and nod “The skronging pirates.”

You’d brought Mando aboard for security on three prior runs. Not a one of them was eventful. This one? Admittedly, you’d been warned when you’d accepted the cargo. You didn’t know the specific contents of your smuggler’s hole, but it was valuable and you were on your way to Corellia. Your manifest _also_ bore medical supplies as your legitimate cover. 

Out of nowhere, while changing hyperlanes, you caught the attention of some scavengers hoping for an easy payday from your light freighter. They didn’t know what was what when Mando gave them a couple of love taps from the gunner’s seat. While you were able to make the maneuver back into hyperspace before they could attempt to board, a glancing blow from an ion charge clipped your baby.

Until the return trip to Navarro, nothing seemed wrong. The bird had come out of hyper without problems, and then the console started lighting up like Life Day. You’d brought her down in a rather ungraceful landing, and fretted as they inspected your ship.

“I can pay for half.” his modulated voice cuts through your thoughts. He’s closed the distance between the Albatross and your spot. Now that he’s so close, you’re forced to look up at him. His shiny Beskar helmet is an odd one out on the odd man out. “Why would you offer that?” you don’t refuse or accept. “Happened while I was on board manning the guns. Could call it partially my fault.” you’re still skeptical “Is this some part of the Way?”. “No. It's just me.” He leans against the wall, standing between you and your beloved old bird, gripping your attention.

“It’s my ship and my responsibility.” you rub at your nose, taking a quick look over your shoulder towards the exit, “We didn’t have any agreement of the sort before you came aboard.” Just behind Mando, you can see the pit droids are hard at work tending to the damaged parts; the original estimate of 4 hours is growing more and more optimistic. “I could buy you a hot meal. At the cantina.” The way he says it strikes you.

You turn around to face him, quirking a smile, “Not gonna ditch me to get back to your bail jumpers and runaways?”. “Do you not want a hot meal?” “You can’t answer my question with a question.” He actually laughs at this. It’s kinda derisive, but it’s the first time you’ve made him laugh. “They’ll keep.” He’ll stay, if you want, just for a bit. “Yeah, I could eat.”

The cantina food is… fine. It’s lightyears ahead of the rations you normally ate, with their precisely measured nutritional value designed to provide exactly what the body needs to survive. Edibility is almost an afterthought. This place’s food is starchy, peppery, and somehow crunchy. All the flavors and textures you never get in the air. The variety alone is Manna from Heaven.

Mando is just sitting there opposite you. He doesn’t even have a drink of his own. “Won’t risk it?” you probe between bites, wanting to at least talk to him. His helmet tilts, but he’s not going to dignify that with a verbal response. 

You click your tongue, and return to your meal. “The Crest is a short walk away.” You look up from your food. “If you want to drink with me, we can go there.” there’s something about the quality of his voice that sends a shiver through you. The clock shows another 3 hours before the ‘tross is ready. You were going to be staying overnight regardless, might as well party before bed.

From the outside, you would never have suspected just how much space Razor Crests had for weapons. Cubbies, cabinets, and closets full of guns and blades. Mando lived in such a… violent world, you realize. It was a little off putting. Your life had its danger, but all you needed was a blaster and a vibroknife to get by. 

“So,” you turn to Mando. “This is what it takes to make you secure enough to take a sip of spirits?” You hear another one of those weird, airy, staticky noises from his helmet. Another laugh? Without a word, he ascends the ladder into the cockpit, and you choose to follow him after a beat. 

When you get to the top of the ladder, you’re greeted by quite the sight: Mando relaxing in the pilot’s seat, lower jaw exposed as he takes a drink. Why does this sight make your insides feel like liquid? He’s just a man. You’ve never seen his face, hardly ever seen him unarmored, and barely spoken to the stoic bounty hunter. 

Once you’re in the co-pilot’s seat, it’s easier to ignore how weak your knees had felt. When he passes you the flask, you take a long pull. It’s sweet, but burns so bad all the way down to your core. 

You may have sputtered a little at the first taste. “What is that stuff?” you chase it with the contents of your canteen. He opts to drink again before answering you, “Don’t know the word for it in Basic, we just called it aay’han.” You need more water to clear your throat before you can speak. “Ay yay huh? Never heard of it.” When he offers again, you wave it away, “Not bad though.”

A peace settles between the two of you, as the effects of the ‘aay’han’ set in. One of which seems to be the randomization of your complete and total attention. So, without meaning to, you find yourself studying his armor, drawn in by the interesting textures. 

Quite frankly, it’s beat all to hell. Chipped, and clipped with more than a few bullet holes. The enamel is missing, and a rather utilitarian dark brownish red. You figure all that lifeless metal must work as hard as he does. In your mildly intoxicated state, you don’t even realize you’re staring. Eventually you come to his helmet, and you’re stunned to find him staring right back at you. “What do you want?” his voice is soft through the high pass filter. You flush as you feel the heat of his attention. “Why do you want to know?” you’re trying not to shake. 

He’s leaning back in his seat, one leg draped over a knee. “Because I want to give it to you.” Your ears are absolutely ringing in the silence that follows. 

You stand up from your seat, the visor tracking the movement. For a moment, you’re standing over him as he relaxes. He shifts in his seat, setting his heavy boots on the floor.

Carefully. Lifting one knee, then the other, and settling down. Your hands naturally come to rest on his shoulders. You’re feeling self conscious about the position until, his hands grab on to your ass and give it an appreciative squeeze. He lets out something soft that could be a sigh.

Emboldened, you shift your hips, just so, to press yourself against him. “What do you want to give me?” you try to sound sultry, but your neediness is too much. You take the very firm squeeze he gives your ass to be his answer.

Being astride the Mandalorian in the cockpit of his ship feels like such a surreal experience, you almost wonder if this is just a vivid daydream. Reality asserts itself with the lightest caress. He’s brought those big, gloved hands around, and has begun stroking his thumbs up your inner thigh. His touch is astoundingly delicate, you want more pressure, more contact, more of him. 

You’re starting to squirm from the sensation, and as he has you wriggling on his lap you hear him say “I want to give you my attention.” This draws a pause from you. He said it in such a specific way. As you stare into the visor, hoping you’re looking at his eyes, you contemplate your position. He’s still in his armor and you’re still in your own get up. You’re both currently occupying the captain’s seat, and have been grinding against each other like adolescents.

He doesn’t immediately want to take his hands off you when you’ve maneuvered out of his chair. You’re now standing between his wide open knees. Not looking away from him, you begin to undo the fastenings of your coveralls. Once you step out of them, you’re left in your worn, but clean, long sleeved undershirt and underwear. 

You offer your hands. When he takes them, you can’t help the shy smile that blooms on your face. Oh so carefully, you pull his gloves off and set them aside. His skin is a nice earthy color, and his nails are clean. It makes you wonder how many more surprises like these are under his armor. You drop his bare hands, and sink to your knees on the floor before him. You’re looking up at him now. Your insides feel so watery, but you won’t stop. “I want your attention.”

A bare hand cups your cheek, its thumb running over your bottom lip. “I… I can’t show my face.” You stroke an armored thigh, and look up. Nodding your acceptance. When you press a kiss into his hand, you think you hear a very soft groan. And so you do it again. And again, working your way up Mando’s wrist to his sleeve cuff. Not sure of his boundaries, you stop there. Very much wanting the armor to come off, but very unwilling to ask that of him.

The Mandalorian takes his hand off you, and goes to work at the magnetics holding his breastplate. Your breath is stolen when he removes the metal, and undoes the fastenings to open his shirt wide. Here and there, a scar mars the beautiful surface of his chest. You need to touch him like you need air, and you do so. Rising to run your hands over what he’s offered.

You don’t stop him as his hands trail up your legs, starting at your knees, and reaching up to your hips under your long shirt. With the barest pressure, he begins to drag your underwear down your thighs. They’re allowed to drop to the floor. When he runs the barest touch over your soaked lips, you do your best to swallow a sigh.

So there you are. In the cockpit of a Razor Crest, bare bottomed, and leaning over Mando while he teases your pussy with his bare hands. Before you have the presence of mine to doubt what is going on, he’s got two digits inside you while his thumb is at your clit. You’re going to lose your fucking mind as he begins to stroke and thrust into you, hitting everything that is sensitive. You’re moaning out loud now, as you begin to fall over. 

His voice through the modulator is a hiss, asking you if you like what he’s going, if you feel good, and do you want him? There’s no way in Hell you’re going to respond. Not when he’s clearly found your mind’s off switch.

You’re so close to orgasm that when he removes his hand you give a genuine sob. When your eyes are able to focus, you can see what he was busy doing. He’s gotten his tactical pants undone and pulled down, revealing himself for your appreciation. 

It’s not thought, it’s instinct. You immediately sink down to wrap your mouth around his cock. Doing your best to take as much of him in as possible. The barest pressure is applied to the back of your head, and you follow its direction. Sinking and rising on his length as he wills. When you come up from breath, there is not a small amount of spit that’s built up. It’s formed a drooping link between his member and your lips, something you expect he finds absolutely mesmerizing judging by how hard he’s breathing. 

He’s pressed back against the captain’s chair, now. You’re at first confused when he offers his hand to you, but you give him yours. Allowing him to help you up and pull up into his lap. Very carefully, you’re once again astride him. Back where all this had started. 

You can feel his pulse beneath your palm as it’s pressed against his chest. He covers yours with his own, and you find that surprisingly tender. When the other grips your ass, you’re reminded of what was at hand. 

Once you’ve brought yourself up, your other hand goes between your bodies. He’s so hot and hard in your grip, and you give him an appreciative squeeze, making a sound of approval. You line him up, and proceed to slowly sink down onto the Mandalorian’s cock. 

It’s… Everything. You’re unable to keep your head up, and let it fall into the crook of his neck. You can’t stop; your hips continue to move of their only volition, grinding against him and letting his dick stroke you where you’re so sensitive and needy.

You’re unprepared for the absolute assault he lays on you. Mando takes a firm hold of your hips, and begins to pull you on and off his throbbing length. The sounds you make can’t be helped. It’s too much. Too good. Your leg muscles take up the effort, and begin helping you fuck him harder. His hips are meeting yours, and he’s making sounds to match yours.

When he presses a thumb to your clit, you almost cry from the intensity of the pleasure. Oh so gently, he’s stroking you there. You can’t help it. You start telling him how good he feels inside you, how he’s driving you crazy, and that you have the implant (don’t worry). “Oh yeah” he manages to growl out, “You want me to come in you?”. You can only whine and nod your head. He grabs onto your hips tightly, and thrusts into you just a little more deliciously. “That’s not an answer”, you love how dark his voice is with need. You answer him, with your forehead pressed against his helmet, and your voice barely a gasp. “Please Mando.”

The two of you are both moaning messes in your shared climax. Your hips slowly stopping their rocking; his hands flexing into the supple flesh of your thighs. Everything is still for the barest moment, and you realize nothing can be the same after what’s happened.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading through to the end.
> 
> I wanted to gift a work to the very sweet Much_Ado_Abt_Novels. They have an amazing Mando x Reader series that is so much fun to read, and I wanted to express my appreciation for their hard work. 
> 
> Please check out my profile for more relevant links if you'd like to get in touch with me or check out my socials.


End file.
